The Man a King Could Envy
by LemonStar
Summary: "Poor Catherine. You're incapable of fidelity, Charles. You always have been." Looking at her now, crying and hurting because of him, Charles heard Henry's earlier words echo in his head. And deep down, he hated whenever the King was right.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating**: T for now… if continued, will change to M

**Pairing: **Charles and Catherine Brandon

**Timeline: **1535; Episode 2x06 "The Definition of Love"

**The Man a King Could Envy **by Lemonstar

"Poor Catherine. You're incapable of fidelity, Charles. You always have been." Looking at her now, crying and hurting because of him, Charles heard Henry's earlier words echo in his head. And he hated whenever the King was right.

**..XX..**

* * *

"_I'm sorry. I have no excuses, Catherine. I thought those days were behind me."_

"_Perhaps human nature can never change."_

"_I swear to you it will never happen again. I love you too much. I have no right to ask you to believe me. But it's true."_

"_You see? You did make me cry after all."_

Charles didn't know if there were any more words that could be said after that.

He looked at her and saw the flickering flames of the candles she stood near reflecting off of the tear tracks on her cheeks. Even crying, she was still beautiful to him – one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. His wife.

He wanted to go to her but his feet seemed planted to the floor. He cast his eyes downwards when he felt them begin to grow wet with his own tears and all could do was feel the hurt thudding in his chest like a steady drumbeat. He had hurt her. He had swore to her that he never would and yet, there they were, standing in the one situation Charles had never wanted Catherine to experience.

He had been with a lot of women during his lifetime and he knew that he had wound up hurting nearly every single one of them. Margaret came to mind immediately. He still held a deep regret for what had transpired between them during their short marriage union. They had known that they never should have gotten married in the first place, both confusing their short-lived lust for something much deeper.

He would always regret the way he had treated Margaret but Catherine was different. Everything about this union between them was different.

This marriage with Catherine was built on love and admiration and respect. He loved her and he was happy with her. He wanted no one but her.

But now, he had hurt her. Deep down, he supposed that there had always been a feeling of dread of this moment coming to pass. Henry had told him that fidelity wasn't something he was capable of doing and though Charles loved proving him wrong, he hated it even more when Henry was right.

He hated that no matter how hard he tried, he had slipped back into the person he thought he had left behind in the past.

"_I swear to all that is holy, all things worthy and good… that to you, I will always be true and never changing." _

He thought of those words that he had said just a month after their marriage, his fingers tangled in her soft hair, his eyes burning deeply into hers. He had meant every word and he had wanted desperately for her to believe him. Believe _in_ him.

"Catherine," he began again.

This time, he found the courage to take a step closer to her. His throat was unbearably dry as he looked at her profile, wishing she would turn her head to look at him again though the sight of her tears made him want to run his own sword straight through himself.

"I am going to have your child," Catherine said, her voice quiet, strained.

Charles stared at her, wondering if he had heard what she had said or if he had imagined her saying those words.

She turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder. He felt immobile. She was with child? Why hadn't she told him? Surely she had known for some time now. The guilt of his actions gnawed at his insides ever more painfully now.

She was to be the mother of his child. They already had Edward but this baby was to be _theirs_ – a product of the both of them. He had cared for Edward's mother but Catherine was the first woman he had ever truly loved and now she was going to have his child.

His feet were finally able to move and he went to her, slipping his arms around her from behind, holding her body tightly against his. She stiffened in his grasp but he chose to ignore that at the moment and instead, lowered his head, placing his face in the side of her neck so that he may inhale the rosewater scent that was hers.

"Charles, please," she whispered, breaking away from his hold. "I wish to return to our chambers now."

He nodded and yet he did not make a move to step out of her way so she could leave the small alcove they now stood in.

"I swear to you, Catherine," he spoke, surprising even himself with the sheer firmness in his tone. "I will never bring harm to you again."

She turned at his words, finally facing him completely. Her tears had stopped but her cheeks were still wet. "One shouldn't make promises they don't intend to keep. And I think we are both painfully aware of this being one promise you are incapable of staying true to."

Charles found that he couldn't look at her and his eyes were lowered to the floor once more. The humor was not lost on him. He had been in battle before, killing scores of men, and had been chased from women's bedchambers with their fathers swords threatening to plunge into his backside.

But he had never been afraid then.

Now though, with her eyes still red from the tears he had caused her to produce, he was terrified of what he had done to her. Of what she was going to be from this moment forth. They had had a loving marriage – a rarity among the court – and Charles didn't want to lose it. Not over some mistake he had made that he deeply regretted the instant he had walked out of those stables.

Why had he slept with one another woman when he was already married to the one he desired above all others?

He knew there was no comparison since Catherine and that whore, Anne, were nothing alike, but he often looked to the marriage Henry and Anne had to the one he and Catherine shared. Everyone knew that the King and Queen's love for one another was quickly unraveling while for once, Charles had the one thing Henry wanted.

Charles had a son, Edward. He had a wife, Catherine, who loved him and whom he loved. Charles was happy while Henry was a man of misery with the decisions he had made in the past three years.

Catherine began to slowly edge past him, desperately wanting to escape the tight confines of the alcove and her husband's commanding, and intoxicating, presence but Charles grabbed her arm gently before she could leave.

They stared at one another for a silent moment, their eyes locked together, never wavering from the other. His heart nearly stopped when he looked into those dark brown pools of hers, which usually reflected such love and respect for him.

Now her eyes were completely blank as she looked at him except for the excruciating pain he had bestowed upon her.

Someone in the banquet hall dropped a glass and it clattered to the floor. The music was still playing, the people were still dancing and laughing.

The world was spinning madly around them and yet, Charles felt as if he and Catherine had come to a halt.

He didn't know how to get them moving again. The sinking pit in his stomach warned him that perhaps, he had just ruined everything for himself. Again.

It seemed as if no matter how hard he tried to change, destructing himself still remained his true talent.

**..XX..**

* * *

**TBC … maybe. **


	2. Chapter 2

_**I am not sure if anyone was interested in reading a second chapter but I really wanted to write one. Thank you so much to wayhott4u, heatherweather, BoleynofAragon21, Boleyn Girl13, Eva1983, and coolbeanie for taking the time and reviewing the first chapter for me. **_

**..XX..**

* * *

Charles had always taken a great joy in lying in bed and watching his wife undress at the end of the day.

It gave him a sense of relaxation and comfort he had never experienced before marrying Catherine. He couldn't fully explain it but watching her as the layers of clothing slipped away and were peeled from her body, revealing inch by delicate inch of skin slowly to him, he could feel all of the tension of the day leave his body in one great wave.

Nothing would matter as he'd lay in their bed, watching her. Not Henry or Anne or Katherine – the rightful Queen – and Mary – the true princess. Not any of the Boleyns or Cromwell or the latest executions to be carried out, especially Sir More's.

When he was locked away in his chambers with only Catherine sharing his company, nothing else existed outside of those walls.

That night was different though. As he should have expected it to be.

They left the banquet – Charles taking note that Henry had disappeared from the festivities as well – and he led his wife back to the apartment that was theirs whenever they were at court. Being the Duke of Suffolk as well as the King's closest friend had its advantages with the Brandon quarters being a bit larger than most.

With none of her maids present, Catherine turned her back to Charles as she always did every other night and he dutifully pulled apart the intricate ties of her dress but instead of staying in his presence to remove her gown, she went behind the changing screen in the room to ready herself for bed there so he may not watch.

Charles closed his eyes momentarily, suppressing a sigh.

He reminded himself that this was all his doing. His own wife couldn't stand to be around him because of the grave mistake he had stupidly done against her. He was honestly surprised that she had allowed him to accompany her back to their room.

He stripped himself of his own clothes, leaving them on the floor as he usually did, knowing that his grooms would come and pick them up later, before slipping in between the sheets of the bed, completely nude. He always slept naked and though Catherine came to bed wearing a thin white shift, it wasn't too long before that ended up on the floor and her own bare body was pressed against her husband's.

He knew though that the last thing Catherine wanted that night was for him to touch her, remembering still all too clearly how she had stiffened in his arms when he had tried to hold her after she told him of the baby.

Catherine was the first woman that Charles had ever felt incapable of _not_ touching. Whenever she was near, he constantly touched her hand or her back or if the situation called for the utmost seriousness and propriety, he still made sure that his elbow brushed against her arm. It was as if he had to assure himself that she was next to him and he couldn't bear the thought of her not being there.

She stepped out from behind the screen, her long chestnut hair now hanging down her back in slightly mussed waves and the white shift she wore was so thin, he could see the outline of her delicate, petite body as she walked across the room, past the fire roaring in the hearth.

Normally, every night that they shared a bed – which was every night that he wasn't away, fulfilling a task for Henry – Charles would open his arms and Catherine would come to him, the two falling asleep together, her head on his shoulder and his body warm and protective around his wife's. Unlike with Margaret, Charles never spent a night away from Catherine and their bed unless he absolutely had to and even then, during those nights away from Catherine, it was a restless night for him spent mostly tossing and turning.

Catherine had a habit of seeking his body out for warmth while she slept and Charles wondered with amusement why she was always so cold despite the fires and heavy blankets that adorned their bed. Her feet were always the worst – feeling like blocks of ice – but he endured, tucking them without complaint between his legs as they slept.

He was not expecting that this night though.

And he watched helplessly as Catherine got into bed, keeping herself at the far edge, putting as much distance between them as possible. She rolled onto her side, her back towards him, and the small hollow ache in his chest began growing larger. He had never felt like this when Margaret learned of his infidelity with several ladies of the court but with Catherine, the pain was almost unbearable and it felt as if it was crushing on him, even making breathing a difficulty.

He thought of the words he had spoken to Thomas Boleyn.

_I've grown up_.

He almost snorted now. He hadn't grown up. Not in the least.

And he hated that he had dragged Catherine into the mess of who he was. His wife, loving and loyal, young and beautiful, deserved so much more from him.

His thoughts wandered to the child she carried and of Edward, back at Suffolk Manor with his nursemaid and the rest of the house servants. He was a husband, a father, and he still acted as if he was a lad in his youth. He didn't intend to make the same mistake twice. He wouldn't hurt Catherine or their children.

He didn't want to lose the happy little family he had carved for himself over the past few years.

At their home, Charles and Catherine shared a bedchamber just as they did when they were at court, which wasn't something that was popularly practiced amongst other married couples, and Edward had developed the habit of crawling into their bed in the early hours of the morning before either of them were awake.

At first, Charles had been uncertain whether or not to allow his son, nearly eight-years-old now, to climb into bed with his parents as if he was a young toddler. But Catherine had hushed him and wrapped her arms around the boy who she loved just as much as if she had given birth to him herself and Charles watched with a faint smile as both Catherine and Edward then drifted back to sleep.

Now, it had become something of a custom between them all and when they were away at court, both Charles and Catherine often missed the presence of their son tucked between them in the mornings.

With his infidelity, would Catherine now want to sleep in a separate bed than him once they returned home?

Charles turned his head on the pillow and stared at the back of his wife's head, trying to determine whether or not she was already asleep. He didn't see sleep coming to claim him anytime soon and he wondered if her own mind was spinning relentlessly like his was.

He reached his hand outwards to touch her, to move his body across the grand space between them, but he didn't. He feared that in touching her, he would only push her further away than he already had.

**..XX..**

* * *

"And how is your Catherine?" Henry asked the next morning as they strolled through the gardens as was their customary routine whenever Charles was at court.

Charles nearly grimaced at the question, a bitter bile rising in his throat.

"She's fine," he answered shortly, quietly, glancing down at the ground.

If Henry had actually been paying full attention to his friend instead of having most of his mind distracted with his Queen, he would surely notice that Charles was not sincere in his response.

"In fact, she's with child," he decided to further add.

Despite everything that was happening between them, Charles still felt a surge of pride, and eagerness, at just the though of his and Catherine's baby.

"Ah," Henry said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He then slapped Charles in the chest. "You're a happily married man, Charles." And then, Henry said words that a King rarely said to another person. "I envy you."

Charles looked at him, trying to hide his look of surprise. Henry was a proud man and would never express anything as weak as envy to someone else, not even Charles, his closest, oldest friend and confidant.

Everyone at court had heard of the disastrous meeting the night before when the French had refused a betrothal between Elizabeth and the French prince, few people actually believing that the marriage between the King and Queen Anne was a legitimate one and that Elizabeth wasn't born a bastard.

Charles kept tight-lipped about his opinions, Catherine's advice sounding in his head of to not act in haste and to observe everyone else's actions around him, studying and storing it all away for future use.

The severity of what happened showed on Henry's face and Charles listened dutifully as his friend spoke of Thomas More and his regret in what had taken place.

"Do you think the planets have any influence over our lives?" Henry suddenly asked.

Still distracted with thoughts of Catherine, Charles shook his head slightly without giving the question much thought. "I don't know."

"I would often discuss the issue with More," Henry remarked, laying a hand on his shoulder and Charles listened closely at the mention of the still very highly-regarded man. "We would stand on the roof at night and study the Heavens." He almost seemed to smile at the thought. "More had a great knowledge of the stars and how they influence our humors." He held a small silver cross in his hand – the one that More had been holding during his execution - and he stared at it intently, a distant sorrow, yet growingly angry look in his eyes. "I regret now what happened to More," he admitted – another confession that a King would never indulge anyone in.

The King's decisions were final. And always right. They were never ones to regret or question. Whatever Henry wanted to do, that was always the only thing to do.

Charles offered him silent comfort, putting his arm around his shoulders, and the two began walking once again around the fountain located in middle of the gardens.

"In some ways, I wish it had never happened," Henry continued. "But it wasn't all my fault. Whenever my resolve weakened, whenever I was inclined to save him, a certain person would privately urge me on to his destruction."

"Who?" Charles asked, a frown marring his lips, not knowing who he could be speaking of.

There were more people now in the inner circles who Henry listened to that Charles did not particularly care for nor trust.

Henry's blue eyes turned as cold as ice like his voice. "You know who _she_ is, Charles," he answered, his voice low as if he was afraid someone would overhear.

For a moment, he did not completely understand but then Charles saw that Anne was also walking in the gardens with her dog and two of her ladies trailing behind. And he did not miss the glare of daggers Henry shot in her direction. When she had first caught both men looking at her, there had been a smile, almost one of hope, to dare cross her lips but when she saw the open hostility in which Henry directed towards her, that smile gave way to an expression deep with worry and almost fright.

Henry turned his back on her, facing towards the lily-pad covered pond, the small cross still clutched in his grasp, and Charles watched as he placed a kiss on it before tossing it into the water, the silver object slowly sinking beneath the surface and disappearing from view.

Charles watched him carefully, wondering if this meant what he thought it did.

Had Henry finally opened his eyes and seen the woman that Charles had seen so long ago? Did he see what a conniving bitch whore he married? Did he finally see the error of his ways in all that he had done to please that woman?

Charles had been waiting for this moment so long but his face remained blank, not wanting to give himself away too early. Henry had a tendency to constantly flip-flop his feelings and outlook on manners so Charles bit his tongue. He would have to wait until he was absolutely certain that the King no longer wanted anything to do with the so-called Queen.

He wished he had someone to talk to about this though. Catherine instantly came to mind. Her disdain for Anne Boleyn nearly matched his own but talking with him was the last thing she would be tempted to do.

His brief joy was instantly squashed when he thought of his own wife and like Henry, he stared into the water, now also lost in his thoughts.

**..XX..**

* * *

**TBC. **


End file.
